So why were people pushing beds helter skelter down Duval Street Saturday afternoon? Because it's Key West is the easy answer. And because it's Key West they aren't all that competent at it either as witnessed by this wreck:
Not least no doubt because the fuel is this:
Lest you imagine this chaos is the Beginning of the End of law and order in the Conch Republic, let me assure you Officers Villareal and Hartle (pictured) were carefully escorting each pair of racing bed frames down the city's main drag:
And my goodness what a strange assortment of beds they were:
One of the few rules that I could figure out is that there has to be someone riding in the bed in some manner. And there has to be motive power of course, which take their role more or less seriously depending on what they came out to do, preen, push or be pushed: 
A special mention for a team of dogs that put me very much in mind of the husky races I have been following, from a safe distance, in the frozen north of Kotzebue, Alaska, (http://tundratantrum.blogspot.com/), with apologies for Key West's gentle fun in the face of the Real Thing:
A Key West husky:
Vital Key West cargo for safe delivery:
And there were a few spectators on their balcony at La Concha wondering what planet they had woken up on:
No longer in Kansas, I'm afraid, "Look at that!" One hopes the family album gets judicious editing before public display.
Tomorrow: The Race!
It isn't that I was a wild youth in the conventional sense, I joke that I was the white sheep of my family when I took off and never came home. I was never into bars or drugs or the forced adventure of low people in low places. I would always rather have spent a night in the desert with a tent than a night at a strip club wedged into the bathroom snorting cocaine, which was what my contemporaries were doing in the 1980's. And now I am growing vegetables and marveling that my driver's license shows my actual correct address which hasn't changed in half a decade. I suppose some people would look forward to a day off as a day to be spent propping up the bar at Hog's Breath telling visitors how cool it is to hang in Key West. I spent my day off unpacking two very large cardboard boxes. 
I drove up to Miami (on another day off. It's lucky I only work 14 nights a month) in a rental van a couple of weeks ago and spent $430 on these babies at Costco off Exit 19 on the Turnpike. The drive up was hell on wheels as I was burning a gallon of gas every 16 miles (6km/liter) and it had all the acceleration of a pedal tricycle so where normally I swoop and pass and call the road my home at 43 miles per gallon, I was bouncing along like a pogo stick in this big white box on wheels. It was highly unsatisfactory.
In the event I was glad I rented the cargo van as the boxes were far larger than my modest 4 x 6 utility trailer, but I got them in and unloaded them at home all by myself. I was hoping indeed that these two boxes would magically transform into something "ideal for the garden" as our Francophone friends to the north would say. Zut alors! Magic was not involved, pas du tout, I had to get on bended knee and spend a day assembling le truc.
There was one error I spent some time mulling over, to do with the door handle where the letters did not correspond to the picture but I went with the picture and ignored GLL versus GLR and kept on keeping on. It worked remarkably well.
The vertical bit isn't actually a coconut palm, it's the first panel of the wall installed using enormous screw type contraptions:
In the instructions, everybody, no exceptions in any language, is sternly admonished to make sure each screw has a washer. I have no idea what would happen were I to omit one of those little black metal rings but I shouldn't be at all surprised if an EU Health and Safety Inspector didn't drop in to give me a stern talking to. I was very good which was easy because Keter is smart enough to supply one or two extra fiddly bits for each application, like spare screws and washers. I am starting to like this company whoever they are.
This was never intended to be a garage for the Trumpet, which is a good thing as the doors won't close with the topbox in place (I checked just to make sure), the idea is to relieve the congestion on my so-far-hurricane-proof wooden shed and give me a space to keep my increasing collection of garden tools and potting supplies for the vegetables. So if strong winds blow it down it won't be a terminal financial loss, though formed plastic is stronger than you might think. Well I was surprised anyway despite appearances:
I was hot and thirsty at this point but I was absolutely determined to get my shed in place before the wife returned from the salt mines, so I ignored EU Health and Safety Directives and installed the roof by myself. I got Fred to help screw in the roof panels, Fred being a large brick I keep lying around which I placed on top of the screw holes to keep the material in place while I forced the screw into it from underneath. The good news is the shed is going to live it's life mostly in the shade, the sun being the killer around here. I found a spot under a side deck next to a leafy West Indian almond tree on the north side of the house:
The doors and door handles were a bit of a conundrum with lots of fiddly pieces and me standing there saying to myself: "Why do I have to assemble every single last tiny piece goddammit!?" And then the other voice kicked in: "Because it only cost four hundred and thirty dollars you halfwit!" I then learned that the floor has to be exactly flat if the hinges are to line up properly so I had to slide and shove and get the erection lined up properly, until at last:
The roof even comes with a built-in skylight as the main beam is thoughtfully made of translucent plastic. The overhead light is helped along by a window, which really does need two people to install it as the frame needs to be compressed tightly, more tightly than Fred could manage using a broomstick (visualise that: a large brick balanced on a broom pressing the handle against the window frame).
There, all done and time for some long delayed lunch and a nap. It's not even too obnoxiously intrusive.
Hell's teeth! I 've still got to water the bloody garden and collect the garden trash to put curbside for collection in the morning! Being a settled homesteader is nothing but work, work, work, I tell you.
There are a couple of fevers gripping Key West at the moment. One is the Cuban Embargo that business leaders are hoping will soon vanish. Their fond hope is that reopening business links with the Communist Island will give our small town a boost. The sceptic in me is bound to wonder if cruise ships will choose Key West over Havana but hey, if I get that much talked about ferry service from Stock Island I will be happy. The other fever affects me not one bit. It's the prospect of sinking a ship off Key West to allow recreational divers, those that still have jobs in their real lives, to go diving from Key West. 
On Wednesday, a day no cruise ships were scheduled to dock in Key West four tugs showed up in the harbor dragging a derelict Navy ship that had been scheduled for scrapping, but now will live on forever as the world's second largest artificial reef. How do I know? Because even the slowest dolt in Key West can recite by heart the "world's secon..." etc etc. It is also very well known around town these daysthat the Vandenberg was a satellite tracking ship, and...
Flags don't fly so very well fifty feet underwater, methinks. 
My Bonneville is my main means of getting around. While it is true I have a fine Nissan Maxima parked under the house, and my wife cheerfully lets me drive her trash-filled convertible or even her delightful Vespa, the 2007 Trumpet is what I turn to when it's time to get on the road. 14 nights a month The Triumph and I share the Overseas Highway coming and going, and while I am upstairs in air conditioned comfort the Bonneville sits out in the parking lot at work, come rain or fog, salt air and dust. Even at home all the Bonneville has to call home is a patch of cement, exposed on the sides to the elements while I sprawl upstairs in my palatial 700 square foot residence. I should not be surprised then that specks of rust have built up in a couple of places. On the mirrors for instance:
Or the front fender (mudguard) struts which are in the way every time water is spraying off the roadway:
I have been noticing this build up of crap for a while but what with other things going on and the daily preference to keep the Bonneville on the road,rusty specks have been allowed, for some mysterious reason, to get out of hand. I put a stop to that finally, at least on the struts. I pulled out the toolkit and all the other crap necessary for the task:
Lacking as I do the air conditioned garage aforementioned, I was glad the weather had taken a small turn for the cooler, especially as April can be warm in the Keys, which is to say humid. I took the struts off which involved nothing more complicated than unscrewing some bolts. And in the case of the rear strut I had to unscrew the speedometer cable which was easy enough. Of course there was prep work, chipping off the worst of the rust then endless sanding to get the chrome remaining, smooth and ready to accept paint. Then I had to figure out how to get the Rustoleum primer and black paint onto these awkwardly shaped pieces of metal. They look like nothing quite so much as croquet hoops and they are not deigned for easy painting. I scratched my head for a while and eventually I figured out threading some string under my deck and attaching the hoops with zip (electrical) ties to the string. It looked eccentric but it worked:
Finally I got to work with the spray cans. Now I have to confess I am the world's worst painter and second worst cook. I have no patience for the fine art of applying color to anything, be it walls, paper or croquet hoops. Equally I would much rather wash dishes in the kitchen than patiently mix up ingredients and watch them simmer on the stove. I grew up with institutional food and an English boarding school education will equip one to eat anything, though it doesn't do you any good when it comes to learning how to be a good painter. Either you can daub or you can't. I can't.
the way I figure it, the sanding and primer will help the black paint to stick and may slow down the development of rust for a while. So even if it doesn't look that great (and photography is my friend in this instance), it's better than looking rusty:
The struts are done, the speedometer is reinstalled and all is well with the world. The problem is I got brave and thought about doing the mirrors too, but then I realised first I had to remove the Parabellum windshield, which isn't hard to do as it's just four screws, but I wasn't sure spraying the mirrors would be my best move. In the end I got some Brasso and reduced the rust on the mirror stems as much as I could and left it at that. I have painted the supports for the windshield previously as they rusted up almost instantly and they have held up okay for the past year and half though they do show signs of wear:
Here endeth the lesson. Much better it is to be riding than struggling with nuts and bolts, paint and primer..jpg)
The Bonneville looks fine even with a few spots of rust. It is, as I keep pointing out, a daily rider and that justifies almost any abuse.